


little talks

by berylup



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Death, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Sorry guys, Suicide, This is just kinda sad, Wakes & Funerals, exploded (twice) by tnt and withers, ghostinnit, no beta we die like lmanberg, the comfort part is like Sort Of sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berylup/pseuds/berylup
Summary: Tubbo looks up, and his heart drops, because he does know what to think when he sees the giant tower several yards away. The tower that is crudely made with spare materials that spirals into the clouds, up so far he can’t even see the top of it.“No,” he murmurs, nervously tugging at his tie, “no, surely not.”He feels sick.Or;Tommy dies and Tubbo starts seeing a ghost.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 22
Kudos: 387





	little talks

**Author's Note:**

> to preface im sorry  
> its really not THAT bad but. haha  
> title is subject to change if i think of something better a few days from now - currently its taken from the song little talks by of monsters and men

After the unsuccessful execution of Technoblade, it’s not hard for Tubbo to slip out, away from the others. All it took was a few quick words, and Quackity seemed content to continue scheming with Fundy with the president.

“I need to go, check up on something,” Tubbo had said, glancing towards the entrance-way. “I reckon I’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, Mr. President,” Quackity dismissed with a wave of his hand, eyes sharp and focused on something beyond the two of them. “Need one of us to go with you?”   


“No,” the teen shook his head as he inched away, “I’m alright, thanks.”

Though Tubbo saw Ranboo staring at him, curious no doubt, he just gave a smile and headed out of the war room feeling that burning gaze on his back. 

The path he takes to the communal Nether portal is familiar. He’s made the trek many times, given that he doesn’t have a personal portal to his name. It doesn’t take long to get to it and Tubbo passes through - shivers at the coldness overtaking him then the sudden, oppressive heat of Hell - and takes a moment to collect himself. Make sure he knows which path to take. It’s not hard to tell which one. The long, awkwardly put together obsidian and cobblestone path that winds around, ending up at another portal, hundreds of blocks away. Tommy’s Nether portal. 

With only the click of his heels against the path and the bubbling lava beneath him to accompany, Tubbo is alone. The teen only has one goal in mind; talk to Tommy. Or, see him, how he’s doing, at least. It’s been too long, they need to have a discussion, he reasons to himself, and frankly… he misses his friend. He misses having a near-constant companion, someone who he was able to talk to easily with no worries. Even if their friendship was strained, to put it mildly, by the time the blonde had left, Tubbo misses him. They were - are - best friends!

Besides, Tommy might even be happy to see him! He hopes. Tubbo isn’t sure how Tommy will react to seeing him. It’s been so long since they’ve had a proper conversation. Maybe this can be the start of something good, mending their somewhat broken friendship. 

But the second Tubbo steps through Tommy’s portal, he feels something is wrong. He can feel it in his chest, feel the anxious thrum of his heart - something happened. It’s quiet, and the night air is cool against his skin, but there’s dread building in the pit of his stomach. Something isn’t right. 

The first clue he gets is the Nether portal - or, portals, plural. The one he steps out of seems new, like it just appeared in the middle of this dirt path, and a few feet away is another one. Broken. 

“Odd,” he says to himself, quiet, taking a few steps and brushing his palm against the rough, dark purple frame. 

The next thing he notices is when he glances over, just to the left, and sees a giant fucking hole in the ground. A scar in the earth, with scorched marks all around, as if from an explosion. There’s barely anything left. Just vague remnants of what used to maybe be a wall, a small trailer half-way gone, and blue dye scattered all over the ground as moonlight shined down on the crater. He doesn’t know what to think. 

And then Tubbo looks up, and his heart drops, because he does know what to think when he sees the giant tower several yards away. The tower that is crudely made with spare materials that spirals into the clouds, up so far he can’t even see the top of it. 

“No,” he murmurs, nervously tugging at his tie, “no, surely not.”

He feels sick. 

He feels dread and nausea intertwine in the pit of his stomach as he registers his own footsteps, numbly walking towards the base of the tower. Afraid to see what he thinks he may. 

At first, he’s relieved. There isn’t a body, not one he can see - maybe Tommy didn’t go through with it, jumped in the nearby pond instead to save himself, didn’t throw himself to the ground, maybe he’s just left the area for the time being, maybe maybe maybe-

But he rounds the corner after eyeing the pool of water near the tower, and nearly throws up. 

It’s Tommy. 

It’s Tommy, and he’s dead. 

Tubbo feels horrified, frozen to the spot. He can’t stop looking at the corpse in front of him, only a meter ahead, broken and bruised with lifeless eyes that stare up into the black sky. Tommy’s chin has dried blood on it, like the red liquid had been trickling out of it when he landed, and his limbs were splayed out unnaturally, bent in awkward ways that limbs shouldn’t be allowed to bend. 

“Tommy,” Tubbo says, and he feels like he’s either about to sob or start vomiting, “oh god. Tommy, please.”   


And he stumbles forward, falling to his knees to sit with his friend - his brother in all but blood - as his vision blurs with tears. The tears slip down his cheeks as he leans over the corpse, desperately checking his neck for a pulse that isn’t there. Instead he just finds cold, almost waxy feeling, skin, and no vibrations of any kind. 

“Please,” he sobs, curling in on himself, “please, I’m sorry, Tommy, I’m so sorry.”   
Tommy doesn’t answer. 

Of course he doesn’t. But Tubbo wishes so badly he would, even if just a whisper of a voice, or not even words, just something so he can know his best friend was alive. He’s not, though. Tommy is gone, he’s died and gone to whatever afterlife exists in this world and won’t be back. 

Tubbo sniffles, staring at his lap, not wanting to look at the body just in front of him. He isn’t sure how long he stays like this - all he knows is that when he finally focuses on his surroundings again, it’s starting to become morning. He gives a sparing glance to the rising sun and sighs, balling his fists up. He needs to get the body back home, to L’Manberg. 

Tommy deserves to be buried in his home. 

He fishes his communicator out of his pocket without a second thought but hesitates - he needs help, but who is he supposed to call? After several seconds of hesitation, he finally decides. There’s just one person who’s always willing to help him. He calls, hearing the quiet ringing go by before it stops. 

A pause, then a crackled voice, “Hey, Tubbo. What’s up?”

“Hey, Ranboo,” Tubbo breathes out, the relief at being answered momentarily loosening the ache in his chest. “You, uh… Ranboo, do you know where Tommy’s been staying? In- in exile?”   


“Is something wrong?” the other boy asks immediately and Tubbo screws his eyes shut, willing his voice to stay steady.    


“Do you know?” he repeats, biting the inside of his cheek. 

There’s a few seconds of silence, of hesitation. “I do.”

His eyes open and his gaze drift to Tommy, feeling cold at the way his lips turn up at the corners. Like he feels happy. He shouldn’t be happy.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo’s voice snaps him back into focus, “Is Tommy okay?”   


The young president’s voice is quiet, unsteady as he chokes back a sob. 

“We need to have a funeral.”

The other end is nearly silent, except for the sounds of shuffling. “I’m on my way,” is eventually muttered out, before the other disconnects. 

Tubbo lets himself cry for the second time as the communicator falls from his grasp. 

His mind is too fuzzy to register anything that was going on. It just felt like he had a big wad of cotton, or something, instead of a brain. He couldn’t fucking think, just stared at the corpse in front of him like his life depended on it. It’s all he could do. 

God, this is all his fault. If he had just figured out something, or gone along with the original plan the other cabinet members agreed on, or just did anything other than exile his best fucking friend, this wouldn’t have happened. Tommy wouldn’t have killed himself, and instead of a dead brother he’d have one that was still alive and smiling and laughing. 

Tubbo misses Tommy’s laugh. He misses the blonde’s screaming, he misses talking with him, he misses listening to those stupid discs with him as the sun sets. It makes his throat close up as his chest racks with sobs. He just wants his friend back. 

“Tubbo?” someone says, is that Ranboo, did he get here already? “Tubbo, deep breaths, come on.”   


A hand lands on his shoulder and Tubbo can’t help but flinch, biting his lip. The hand retracts slowly, hesitantly.    


“Sorry, uh, just. Breathe. Deep breaths, slowly. In for eight seconds, hold for four, then out for seven. I.. think. I think that’s right. Do that, okay?”   


Tubbo tries, he really does, he wants to calm down. But his guilt is filling him to the brim because he killed Tommy, didn’t he? He’s exiled him, he exiled his best friend, his  brother. Tommy’s blood is on his hands now, and if he focuses he can see the red staining his palms, dark liquid dripping off his fingers and onto the dirt. He killed Tommy. This is his fault. 

“Tubbo,” Ranboo speaks again, and Tubbo desperately latches onto the quiet, deep tone of his voice, “breathe with me here. Okay?”

Tubbo swallows down the lump in his throat and does his best, and just a little bit, he feels better. His heart isn’t beating nearly as fast and he can finally wrench his eyes away from the corpse. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out. He shouldn’t be crying like this. 

“It’s okay.” Ranboo lets out a hum - over the past few months, Tubbo’s learned the humming is a part of his partial enderman heritage - as he stares down at the other teen.  “It’s okay, Tubbo.”   


Tubbo just nods and forces those slow, deep breaths until his heart is steadily beating, and he can look around and feel the grass under his legs. He needs to be calm and collected; first and foremost, he is a president, and that means he needs to be professional about this. He eyes the hybrid in front of him, wondering how he could be so calm. Maybe it was because he hadn’t known Tommy nearly as well. 

Tubbo clears his throat, speaking as steadily as possible. “I need you to help me get him back to.. to L’Manberg.”   


Ranboo instantly looks worried, eyebrows creasing as his gaze flicks to the corpse. “Will Dream be mad if we do that?”

Dream. Tubbo’s lip curls in disgust, feeling a sudden wave of anger. 

“Fuck Dream,” he spits, scowling. “Fuck him.”   


Ranboo stays quiet, no response, looking unsure. 

“Dream can go suck George’s dick for all I care,” Tubbo snarls, standing up unsteadily. Despite sitting in the same position for several hours in a row, he manages not to fall. 

“He is not going to stop me from burying Tommy in L’Manberg. It is the very least I can do for him, and nothing will stop that.”   


Ranboo inclines his head in acknowledgement, now towering over the other as he stands as well. “Alright then. Let’s, uh, get him back.”

The next few hours go by in a blur. Ranboo helps him carry the body back home, to L’Manberg. They tell the cabinet members, Quackity and Fundy, what happened, and Tubbo hates the dual looks of pity and horror from the two, hates the way his secretary of state pulls him to the side and asks if he’s alright, hates the way his own hands shake when he says he’s fine. 

He isn’t fine. 

And then he’s alone. It’s dusk, now, and he watches the soft gradient of baby blue to bright orange from the tops of one of the buildings of New L’Manberg. Funeral preparations were being taken care of by Fundy, by the fox hybrid’s own decree, and the young president was pushed away. Told to take a rest. 

Tubbo isn’t tired, though, and doesn’t want to make the trek to the rebuilt White House to just lay awake in his bed. Tommy always loved the sunset, he recalls with a hint of bitterness as he watches the skies.

But just as he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees and chin resting in the palm of his hand, he can hear footsteps behind him on the dark spruce wood of the roof. His eye twitches at the voice that rings out. 

“Tubbo,” Dream - because of course it’s Dream it’s always him - greets and the boy gets a strong desire to tear his hair out. “I heard some interesting news.”   


“From who?” Tubbo mutters out his reply, refusing to turn around. “And whatever news happens around here is not your business.”   


“Oh, c’mon.” Dream chuckles. “Everything is my business, Tubbo. And, for the record, Fundy told me.”   


The teen lets out a sigh, dragging a hand over his face as he lets his head drop. He makes a mental note to talk to Fundy later about this. “Tommy’s dead, Dream. I reckon that’s what you wanted to hear out of me?”   


He hears another laugh and feels a stab of burning anger. 

“Don’t sound so sad,” Dream croons. “He was a liability after all, that’s why you exiled him, right? Isn’t he better off dead, so he can’t cause anymore trouble?”   


Tubbo doesn’t respond. He screws his eyes shut, willing the older man to shut up as a migraine begins to bloom in the side of his head. 

“I mean,” Dream continues, stepping closer, “it isn’t like you, or anyone, really went to see him that much. Didn’t you want him gone?”

Tubbo grits his teeth. “Dream,” he warns as he slowly stands up. 

“I’m just telling the truth, Tubbo,” Dream says with faux innocence, and when the teen turns to face him his head is tilted, mask staring at him demeaningly. “Do you think I’m not?”   


“Dream,” Tubbo repeats, and he wants to smash the man’s mask in. “I think it’d be best if you leave me be.”   


“Are you upset?”   


The seemingly innocuous question is what tips the boiling pot of rage over the edge.    


“Am I upset?” Tubbo parrots, baring his teeth as his eyes narrow to glare at Dream. “I don’t know, Dream, you tell me - Tommy’s fucking dead, Dream, do you understand what that means? Do you understand who’s fault that is? Do you know the gravity of this situation? I have to host a funeral for my best friend, my brother, and you’re asking me if I’m upset?”   


The teen stalks closer to the masked man at every word, gesturing his hands wildly as his voice grew louder and louder. Dream just stares, impassive and silent, and it makes Tubbo want to scream even more. 

“You don’t even care,” he spits, feeling the familiar sting of tears pricking his eyes. “You’re a monster, Dream.”   


“Are you saying it’s my fault he did it?” Dream’s voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge to it. 

“It’s both of our faults,” Tubbo retorts. “I should have told to fuck off in the first place. I shouldn’t have left him alone with- with just you. I hate you. I wish you’d leave us alone.”   


A moment passes, then another, as the older man gazes down at Tubbo. The mask is impenetrable, and Dream is completely still, betraying nothing of what he might be  thinking or feeling. 

“Leave me be,” Tubbo mutters, turning away towards the setting sun. He spares one more glance over his shoulder, eyeing with distaste the familiar Netherite armor the other always dons, and adds, “And if you’re going to be hanging around here, take off your armor. You know the laws about that in L’Manberg.”

Dream doesn’t say a word when he departs. 

It’s not too long after, during the dark hours of the night that Tubbo realizes he needs to tell Technoblade what’s happened. 

It makes him nervous, to think of seeing the piglin hybrid so soon after attempting to execute him, and overall the teen was rather terrified of him, but it needs to be done. Besides Phil, who already knew as Tubbo told him the moment he and Ranboo had gotten back, Technoblade was what was left of Tommy’s family. He should know about the brother’s death. 

So Tubbo makes the trek by himself, only telling Ranboo where he was going. The trip itself is half a day all on its own and it gives him a lot of time to think, to plan out his words. He really doesn’t want to be doing this. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Technoblade killed him on sight. The thought of such makes his heart beat a touch faster, making him feel dizzy with anxiety. He doesn’t want to die. He just wants to do the right thing.

It’s about midday when he gets to the frozen shores near Technoblade’s home. The sun shines overhead, doing nothing to quell the chill of the air. Tubbo’s gaze stays rooted to the snowy ground, trying to ignore how his hands shake when he pulls them out of his coat pockets. He’s almost there. He can even see the house, now, far off in the distance. If he squints his eyes, looking hard, he can see a curtain suddenly shut itself as if someone had opened it. 

He swallows the lump in his throat. Now or never. 

He chews on his lip as he grows closer to the house, as he climbs up the stairs to the porch, as he raises a shaking hand to knock on the door. Once, twice, three times before the heavy spruce door swings open and he flinches, stepping back. 

“Technoblade,” he greets, dipping his head. He tries to keep his tone neutral and steady. 

“Mister President,” Technoblade responds icily. A glance up reveals the man to be leaning against the doorway, staring at Tubbo with a piercing glare. “To what do I owe your company again? Another failed execution?” 

Tubbo takes a deep breath. “I swear on my life, Technoblade, that I’m not here for violence. There’s just been some recent information that- uh, that you should know about.”   


“Ah.” He hears the warrior hum in response. “Well, go ahead.”

“It’s- well, it’s-” Tubbo starts, choking on his words. “You see, it’s about- it’s about Tommy, he-”   


Looking up into tired red eyes makes this harder than it needs to be and he stares at the wooden walls of the house instead. He can’t make himself say it even still. 

“What about Tommy?” Technoblade prompts. He sounds bored. “Thought you exiled him.”   


“I did,” Tubbo says. “I did, and- I’m sorry, I truly am.”   


In the corner of his eye, he sees the other clench his jaw. Waiting for confirmation of something he may have already guessed.    


“Tommy’s killed himself,” he whispers, too afraid to speak any louder. “I- I found his body, Ranboo and I brought him back to L’Manberg. The funeral is tomorrow.” 

Technoblade doesn’t say a word. When Tubbo hesitantly looks at him, expecting to see a burning rage in his expression, all he finds is pity and grief. It breaks something in the teen’s heart, realizing, this warrior with the moniker of the Blood God can grieve too, can feel the pain of losing family. It’s easy to forget that, he thinks. It’s too easy to forget that.

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo says, again, looking down. “I hope to see you at the funeral. If- if you know where Will- Ghostbur is, can you tell him?”

“I can,” Technoblade inclines his head. “I have a Nether portal nearby with a path to the hub. I’ll show you to it, so you get back easier.”

It’s that strange act of kindness - something Technoblade would never do normally, not for anyone except maybe Phil, much less Tubbo - is what makes the teen cry. It’s just a few tears that he hastily scrubs away as he turns around, biting the inside of his cheek, but there nonetheless. 

“That would be nice,” is what he replies with. “Thank you, Technoblade.”

  
  


It’s two, maybe three, days after the funeral when Tubbo sees a ghost. 

The funeral itself is somber, nothing like the raging party the citizens of a newly acquired country had when they’d buried Schlatt. It was quiet, even. Technoblade is there, he knows, he sees him watching from the rooftops with a solemn expression. Dream shows up as well, though is silent as he stares at the casket. Some cry - Niki lets out quiet sobs as Fundy comforts her, and even Quackity is seen hastily scrubbing away a few tears. 

Tubbo does not cry. 

After the procession, and the subsequent coffin lowered into the grave, the teen feels numb. He moves not of his own accord, speaks to others in a voice he can barely register. It’s like he’s stuck in syrup, everything slowed down and not looking quite right. 

He takes a short break from his presidential duties, just for a week at the most - Quackity promises him he’ll keep everything in order while he rests. Tubbo trusts him. 

And it’s on the morning of that third day, when he blinks tiredness out of his eyes and sits up in his bed, that he sees the outline of an apparition in the doorway to his room. 

He lets out a shriek, back straightening so fast he nearly shocks himself into falling onto the wood floor.

“What the hell!” he shouts, scooting back onto the bed. 

The ghost seems to tilt its head, still barely visible. “Tubbo?” it says, and, God, does his heart drop at the voice that comes out. 

The ghost drifts closer now and Tubbo can see him a little better. His skin is grayed out and his formerly-bright blonde hair is dulled, but the red and white colors of his shirt and the bandana around his neck look as vibrant as ever, even with the transparency of his form. 

“Tubbo?” Tommy repeats. “Are you okay?”   


His friend looks so innocently confused, reminiscent of the way Ghostbur often looks nowadays. 

“I’m fine,” Tubbo manages to gasp out. “Tommy, I- are you real?”

Tommy’s eyebrow quirks and he grins, suddenly looking much more like his old self. “Sure I’m real, don’t I look it?”   


Tubbo briefly takes in the other’s appearance once again. “Not really.”   


“Oh.” The smile drops from Tommy’s face. “Well, that might be because I’m dead, I reckon.”

A beat of silence, and Tubbo chews on his lip, trying to decide what to say. 

“Tommy,” he begins, hesitantly, “what do you remember?”   


It takes too long for the other to reply, and Tubbo briefly regrets asking. Tommy grimaces, suddenly, his form looking fainter. 

“Tommy,” Tubbo tries, again, hoping he hasn’t upset his friend. “Are you- are you feeling okay?”   


“I’m dead, Tubbo,” Tommy spits, looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”   


And then he flickers out of existence, and not for the first time that week, Tubbo cries. 

Tubbo has to return to his presidential duties, of course he does. He can’t shirk his responsibilities for very long, despite his want to keep grieving. He was made president for a reason - even if that reason is now null, due to the original intentions behind it, he still needs to help lead a nation. 

A nation built on the backs of children, he reflects, on his walk to the secret meeting room. 

He had called a cabinet meeting earlier in the day, telling the others that there was something they needed to discuss. It’s time for him to put his foot down, even if it makes the ever-present dread in stomach build. He ignores the strange chill following him as he shoulders his way into the small room, letting the spruce door slam itself shut behind him without hesitation.

“Tubbo!” Quackity immediately greets, smiling from his seat. “You’re always so late- what’s the meeting for? Did you want to talk about the festival?”

“Sort of,” Tubbo mutters, surveying the room quickly. 

Quackity was sitting beside Fundy, tapping his fingers. Something about him always unnerved Tubbo, but he thinks it was just the uncanny shapeshifting ability the man possessed - right now, thankfully, he seemed to be in his normal human-like form, with small yellow wings sprouting from his back. 

Fundy had waved in greeting, smiling kindly. Tubbo likes Fundy, considers him family. He’s a familiar face, and has been around since the very beginning - the only one who has been. 

Then Ranboo, not technically apart of the cabinet but here nonetheless, sits at one end of the table, idly doodling in the margins of his notebook. He’s here mostly to record things, and was recently sworn to loyalty to L’Manberg - but Tubbo doesn’t trust him. Not entirely, anyway. The hybrid - a strange hybrid he was, half enderman and half something else entirely, not human - is strange, not malicious, but always had some sort of nervous energy about him. 

Tubbo takes a deep breath. Now or never, right?

“Right then, boys,” he says. “First thing in order, we will no longer be going after Technoblade. The Butcher Army’s mission, I know, is supposed to execute Dream at the festival and then return to the original intention of killing Technoblade.”   


Quackity immediately stands, eyes wide with shock. “Are you crazy?” he demands. “Technoblade is a goddamn war criminal, Tubbo, he helped destroy L’Manberg during the  war!”

“I’m aware.” Tubbo bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to look at the scars covering the shapeshifter’s face from the last altercation they had with the warrior. “I don’t think it’s worth it anymore. He may already be angry, anyway, from what we tried to do and from Tom- his brother’s death.”   


“He’s still a criminal, though,” Fundy insists. 

“I’m aware,” the young president repeats. “I’m not saying we completely pardon him, and I would prefer he stay away completely. I’m just suggesting we no longer actively go after him just for revenge. I don’t think it’s worth it.”

“Tubbo, he deserves to pay for his crimes!” Quackity raises his voice, hands slamming down on the table. 

Tubbo flinches. He tries to keep his expression neutral. “You’re on thin ice, Quackity,” he says, carefully watching the other’s angered expression melt into one of shock. “I am the president, and I have the final word, regardless of whether or not I take yours into account.”   


He takes a deep breath. He continues speaking.

“I respect you a lot, and I appreciate all you’ve done for our country, Quackity, but sometimes as of late I feel you get a little too reckless. I don’t think we should have gone after Technoblade in the first place, but I let you push me, I let everyone push me, and it always ends up badly. I think it’s time I take my place as president, properly, and be the leader I am supposed to be. I will always listen to you, Quackity, but for the sake of our nation I sincerely think we should drop this.”

The room was completely silent after his monologue, save for the scratching of pen on paper as Ranboo quickly writes down the events thus far of the meeting. 

“Tubbo, I respect you as well,” Quackity says, and the scratching briefly stops, “and trust me when I, respectfully, tell you that this is a stupid fucking idea.”   


“You’re fair to think that.” Tubbo inclines his head. His heart is beating impossibly fast. 

Quackity sighs, then, and looks at the ground as he slumps back into his seat. “You might be right, though. I don’t know what the right thing to do is, but I’ll respect your decision right now, I guess.”

“For the record,” Fundy cuts in, “we’re still going after Dream, correct?”   


Tubbo winces. Right, Dream. “I’m not entirely sure the festival plan is still the right course of action, but… as of today, yes.”   


“Green fucker deserves it,” Quackity agrees, chuckling. 

“That adjourns this meeting then, I reckon,” Tubbo claps his hands together. “I’ll see you all later. Ranboo, please send over a message to Technoblade soon regarding my decision.”   


The others call out goodbyes to him as he turns on his heel, heading out of the room, slipping into New L’Manberg proper. He glances at the sky, takes a moment to appreciate the soft blue of it as fluffy clouds drift across the sky. For a moment, he can pretend that nothing is wrong, that everything is fine - Tommy was still alive, by his side, that he hadn’t had to build this country back up from the ashes, that it was never blown up in the first place, that the hand touching his shoulder is warm. That everything was okay and he was happy.

But Tubbo isn’t happy, and the hand touching him is cold and he isn’t sure if he wants to look away from the sky to figure out which ghost it is. He can guess, though. 

With a shudder, his head drops, and he catches only a glimpse of dull blue eyes before the hand is gone, taking the chill with it. 

“Hi, Tommy,” he still murmurs. “It’s nice to see you, even as a ghost.”

Tubbo blinks back his tears. He needs to get some work done.

“We should have a talk soon, about everything. If you remember, if you want to… You know I’m always here.”

He walks away from the spot, feeling sadness and guilt weigh on him. 

Tubbo keeps seeing Tommy watching him in the corner of his vision at all times. He thinks he’s the only one who sees him - the others never mention a word of the ghost, though Ranboo seems twitchier than normal when he’s around. 

There are times when he tries to catch a direct look at Tommy, but all he gets is a frown, then nothing. It’s frustrating. 

Sometimes, he doesn’t see Tommy at all. On those days, all he feels is a cold presence following him. At least he still knows his friend is there. 

“I miss you, you know,” Tubbo mutters in the dead of night one time. 

It’s so cold, suddenly, and he vaguely registers it as arms wrapping around him. He can’t see them but - it must be Tommy. 

It’s only for a moment, though, and then the presence is gone entirely. 

“Ranboo,” Tubbo says one time, as they decorate for the upcoming festival. 

The hybrid hums in response, head tilted towards the young president.    


“Have you seen Tommy around?” he asks, and the other goes completely still. 

“Well,” Ranboo starts, then stops. “Well. Tubbo, he’s- you know. He’s dead, six feet in the ground.”   


“I know that,” he mutters, then again, “I mean his ghost, Ranboo. Have you seen him?”

Ranboo hums again. “Oh.”

A pause.    


“I can sense him, but no. Have you?”   


Tubbo shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “Sometimes.”

“Has he talked to you?”

He stiffens, then tries to forcibly relax his body. “... Once.”

“Oh.” Ranboo nods, as if he understands. “He’ll talk to you again soon, I think.”   


They don’t talk about anything else that day. 

Ranboo must know more than he lets on, Tubbo thinks some hours later, as he’s once again face to face with Tommy’s ghost. 

He takes the time to study the other - his form is blurry, and it shifts every so often, fading out of existence and then coming back. Every time it does this, he’s wearing a different outfit. One moment, he’s in his red and white t-shirt and khakis, another he’s in the revolutionary-era uniform of L’Manberg, and another he’s in the t-shirt and khakis again but battered and dirty looking. He’s always clutching the green bandana in his left hand, though, with white knuckles. 

“Hi Tubbo,” Tommy whispers to him, transparent hands covering Tubbo’s own. “I think I’m ready now.”   


“To talk?” he asks.    


“Yeah.” 

Tubbo takes a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the feeling of wrongness here. Tommy is never quiet, he’s never soft, yet tonight all his words are gentle, his expression sad, his touch light and kind. It’s wrong. This isn’t how it should be.

“What do you remember?” Tubbo repeats the question he had days ago. 

Tommy shifts, the bedsheets they sit on not moving under his weight. “More than I’d like to, if I’ll be honest.”   


“Can you tell me?”

Tommy speaks in a soft voice, and Tubbo has to strain his ears to listen. 

“I remember the sun… shining on us, and the others, as we stood outside the van, declaring our independence from Dream. Claiming this land as ours, naming it- naming it L’Manberg. And I remember fire, and explosions, as it’s destroyed, over and over. I remember feeling pride when I secured our independence by giving up my discs. I remember being happy to run an election with Wilbur.”

His voice cracks. 

“I remember losing. I remember Schlatt exiling I and Will. I remember leaving you behind, and when Wilbur got more crazed, and when he finally blew it all up after we got everything back. I remember Technoblade betraying us, but I guess that wasn’t a surprise.”

Tommy pauses, for a long time. Tubbo just waits with bated breath. 

“I remember feeling selfish,” he eventually says. “And wanting to finally get back my discs from Dream. I remember being stupid, burning down George’s house with Ranboo. And I remember being exiled, again, this time by you.”

“Tommy…,” Tubbo murmurs.

“I remember everything,” Tommy laughs, a broken and wet sound as tears slide down his face. “Why do I- Tubbo, why do I remember? Wilbur doesn’t remember, why- why do I have to?”

“I don’t know, Tommy,” Tubbo responds, trying to grasp at his friend’s hands only for his fingers to pass through. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”   


“I just want to forget,” Tommy sobs. “I want to stop feeling scared.”   


“I’m sorry,” is all Tubbo can say, as he watches his friend breakdown, as he desperately tries to keep from crying himself. “I’m sorry, Tommy, I’m sorry.”   


“Tubbo,” the ghost sucks in a deep breath, one he doesn’t even need, “do you know what the worst part is, Tubbo?”

Tubbo stays silent. He bites his lip. 

“I’m not even mad at you,” Tommy whispers. “I’m not angry at you, I never was. Even though you gave into Dream, I know I should be furious with you, but I’m not. I never am.”

The confession is what breaks Tubbo, and he curls in on himself as a wracked cry comes out. “I’m sorry,” he says, sobbing, “I’m so sorry, Tommy, I’m sorry.”   


“Me too,” the ghost murmurs, cold fingers carding through his hair. “I’m sorry, too.”

Tubbo keeps whispering apologies into the night up until Tommy finally leaves him. The cold lingers. It always does. 

Tommy is always in full view, now, even though the others still don’t seem to see him. Tubbo wonders why - maybe he just wasn’t ready? He does ask once, only to get a withering glare in response before Tommy disappears, leaving entirely for the rest of the day.

He does not ask again. 

Regardless, Tommy always tags along now, where Tubbo can see him, always whispering things into his ear. Trying to influence him, maybe, but the young president tries to just ignore him. Even when he really, really wants to laugh. 

“Do you think we should postpone the festival?” Fundy asks, during a short, mandatory cabinet meeting. 

Tubbo taps his fingers against the dark wood of the table they all sat around. “It might do well to,” he responds, ignoring Tommy’s chuckles. “Dream isn’t- the festival will surely make him suspicious.”   


“Are you suggesting we abandon the butcher army altogether?” Quackity counters. 

“No, of course not!” Tubbo shakes his head quickly. “You know that isn’t what I said.”   


“Big Q acts awful strange sometimes, you know,” Tommy mutters into his ear, and he forces his body to stay relaxed, to not freeze. “Reckon good ol’ Schlatt gots him possessed?”   


“Dream has to pay, Tubbo,” Quackity continues on, oblivious, “he deserves to be executed. And doing it publicly at the festival is our best bet.”   


“That’s… true.” Tubbo purses his lips, flicking his gaze to Fundy and Ranboo. The fox hybrid watches Quackity with narrowed eyes, though otherwise looks neutral, while the latter is just sat stock-still, staring at the wall behind Tubbo. Right where Tommy would be. 

The teen forces himself to look back at his secretary of state, addressing him once more. 

“Quackity, I’m just not at all sure of your plans, if I’ll be honest,” he says. “Fundy, what- tell me what you think, please. Since you brought it up in the first place.”   


Fundy makes a face, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t like Dream, and obviously he deserves justice. I just think… Well. It’s so soon after, uh…,” he waves a hand, “you know. Maybe we should wait before acting on anything big like that. Especially if Technoblade isn’t planning to go after us in revenge, uh, right, Ranboo?”

Ranboo shoots up, straightening his back as he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah- I mean, yes, he told me,” he stammers. “Uh, he told me he’d leave us alone, as- ‘as a mercy’, is what he said.”

“A mercy,” Quackity mutters under his breath, mocking, and Tubbo shoots him a look. 

“Anyway,” Fundy continues. “Dream is the only one we really need to worry about, not that he’s done anything to us specifically. Lately. So, we have reason to think he’ll probably leave us alone, right? And I think it would be better not to antagonize the most powerful person around. Just- just for right now.”

“I dunno, that Green Bitch gotta be taken down a peg,” Tommy whispers, and Tubbo resists the urge to turn and deck him. Not that he’d be able to, anyway. 

Instead, he sighs, saying, “Yeah, I reckon you might be right, Fundy.”   


Quackity scowls, standing. “Whatever. I’m going to go see if George wants to hang out. Call me when you wanna get shit done, Mr. President.”   


“See you, Quackity,” Tubbo calls after him weakly, wincing when he hears the door slam. 

“Dramatic bitch,” Tommy comments. “Hey, do you think Big Q has snapchat, can I get his snap code?”   


Tubbo barely suppresses the surprised laugh that comes out, masking it with a coughing fit. He ignores the concerned look Fundy gives him, instead muttering into his arm,  “Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up, Tommy.”

“When are you going to have that festival?” Tommy asks abruptly, later that day when the two of them sit on the rooftops of L’Manberg. 

Tubbo tilts his head, studying the sunset. “I’m not sure,” he confesses. “I really don’t want to have it, actually.”   


“Why not?”   


He shrugs. 

“Just feels like history repeating itself.”   


Tommy doesn’t reply at first, taking a few moments. Tubbo takes the opportunity to look at his friend, study him. Today, he’s in his normal outfit, looking remarkably how he did so long ago, before everything. Before L’Manberg was founded, even. He almost looks alive.

“Yeah,” he eventually says, “I guess it does. Festivals don’t tend to go well for anyone here.”   


“No,” Tubbo mumbles. “They really don’t.”

Another pause. Tubbo looks back towards the sky, studying the oranges and purples and blues. It’s peaceful. Deceptively so.   


“Dream is going to mess with you guys again soon,” Tommy says. 

“Why do you say that?”   


His friend shifts, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Just a feeling, I guess. He doesn’t like L’Manberg, you know.”   


Tubbo scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, however could you come to that conclusion?”   


Tommy laughs, loud as always, shoving at the other’s shoulder even as his hand just passes through. “Shut it, I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Okay, okay,” Tubbo concedes, grinning. “I know Dream doesn’t like L’Manberg, at best he only really tolerates us. However - well, I don’t like the festival idea. You know why.”   


“I do,” Tommy agrees. “It doesn’t sit well with me either.”

“Then what do you propose I do?”

Tommy exhales, gaze fixed on the setting sun. “I don’t really know. I’d say go for the last disc - the one you still have, you know? - but since I’m.. well, I’m dead, so he has no leverage related to that. Which… might mean he just might try to destroy this place one last time.”

“Scary,” Tubbo mutters, then, “I should decide what to do and arrange a meeting with him soon.”   


“Will that do any good?”   


“I don’t know. Might as well try, though.”

Tommy nods, not responding to that. Tubbo watches the ghost, studies his sudden melancholy expression, and feels a twinge of wrongness in his gut. This isn’t right, he thinks to himself as he looks away to the darkening sky. This isn’t how things should be. Tommy is so odd as a ghost, which he supposes to be expected, but it still makes him unease sometimes.    


Like now, when he sits by his best friend having a calm conversation, when it should be anything but. Tommy was loud and brash and obnoxious, and everything Tubbo wasn’t, but they still sit here calmly. Solemn, even. It’s nice, but at the same time, it’s just so wrong. 

The meeting with Dream goes better than expected, surprisingly.

Dream is already waiting for Tubbo in the Holy Lands, and they settle into the small courthouse to begin the meeting. The masked man is calm, relaxed, and while Tubbo is unnerved as he usually is by the other, there isn’t any reason quite yet to be angered. 

Even Tommy, ever-present at his side now, is quiet. Though he’s chosen to hide today, the only way Tubbo knowing he’s there is by the constant chill at his back. 

“So, Tubbo,” Dream begins, “care to tell me what you called this meeting for? I don’t really care for these politics.”   


There’s a harsh laugh from Tommy behind him.    


“This should be a short meeting, Dream, I promise,” Tubbo says, folding his hands in his lap as he sits down. “I just want to discuss some things today.”   


“Without your cabinet?” The masked man deliberately turns his head as he gazes around the room. 

Tubbo briefly closes his eyes, then opens then as he stares at the older man hard. “Yes. I can do this well on my own, Dream.”   


He chuckles, then shrugs, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “Alright. What is it, then?”

“To start off, I need insurance that you will not be attacking New L’Manberg at any point in the near future - or for that matter, at all, really.” 

Dream tilts his head. He says nothing. 

Tubbo takes a deep breath. 

“New L’Manberg is an independent nation that, while is part of the Greater Lands you are technically the leader of, you have no jurisdiction over us, and it would be appreciated if you would recognize that from now on. I…” he hesitates, “respect you, and I will take your word into account on matters it is needed on, but otherwise you are not a member of my cabinet and therefore you hold no power here.” 

Dream does not speak for a very long time. He seems to be mulling it over, and every second that goes by makes the young president more and more nervous. Tubbo shifts in his seat, squirming. He didn’t ask for much, he argues in his head - a request to be left alone is what this boils down to. But the man’s silence stretches for too long, and it makes his heart beat faster as sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

A ghostly hand lands on his shoulder and cold breath tickles his neck and he has to force himself to not jump in surprise. 

“Not pog, Tubs, he’s gettin’ mad,” Tommy's voice mutters in his ear. “He’ll never respect our nation, you know. Unless you lock him in some deal, he’ll destroy it.”

Tubbo grimaces slightly, then swiftly makes his expression neutral once the mask tilts towards him again. He knows Tommy is right. 

“Huh.” Dream crosses his arms, leaning back. “Well, Tubbo.”

A pause. 

“The way I see it… you don’t exactly have leverage over me here, Tubbo. So why should I agree?”   


“You have no leverage over me either,” Tubbo counters. “Me or L’Manberg, I mean. I don’t have family, I don’t have any pets, I have no valuable items or wealth to my name. And  Tommy is… well, he’s dead. The discs mean nothing to me-”   


He desperately ignores chilled fingers gripping his shoulder, tight. 

“- and there isn’t anything else that you can possibly hold over me.”   


“Besides L’Manberg,” Dream points out.

Tubbo’s mouth is dry. “Besides L’Manberg,” he agrees.

“I suppose I could agree to leave you guys alone,” Dream hums, and there’s a grin in his voice when he says, “Where’s the fun in that, though?”

The courtroom is quiet. Tubbo wishes, just for a few seconds, that he brought Quackity and Fundy along like how the two of them insisted at first. Even Ranboo might have been able to help with the deafening silence, as Dream stares at the young president. His breath catches in his throat, and he fists the fabric of his pants, willing his hands to stop shaking. Wishing Tommy would let go of his shoulder. 

“Fucking bastard,” he registers Tommy growling. “What the fuck? Everything’s a game to him. Don’t give in, Tubbo.”

Dream, despite the mask, looks almost smug. It’s in his body language, the way he leans back languidly, arms crossed not defensively but relaxed. Like he has nothing to worry about, like he’s going to win like he always does. There’s a faint knocking noise, like he’s tapping his foot idly on the cobblestone floors. 

“There’s only cruelty in destroying a nation for fun,” Tubbo eventually says. There’s the slightest unsteadiness in his voice. “You have nothing to gain from it. Nothing to lose, either, but - there wouldn’t be a point. You would not be gaining any leverage or power. You’d be destroying it, actually.”

“That is true.” Dream’s gaze seems to wander again, the mask now tilted up at the skylight in the ceiling. “I will give you that, actually. That is true, you’re right about that. You got me there.”

Tubbo purses his lips. 

“I propose a peace treaty,” he says, trying to project his voice and seem more confident than he is, “similar to the one from the- the first war. The one from the revolution.”   


Dream nods, slowly. “I see. What would be the conditions of this treaty?”   


“Well, in short, the terms would be if we don’t fuck with you, you leave us alone, and vice versa, really.”

The masked man barks out a laugh, leaning over suddenly. “Alright, fair enough. Do you have pen and paper, Tubbo?”   


“I do, Dream.”

“You’re a better negotiator than I thought,” Tommy whispers and Tubbo smiles without restraint. 

The peace treaty is written, signed by Dream and Tubbo and shaken upon. 

Quackity isn’t happy about it - disappearing soon after, likely to El Rapids, as he mutters about diplomacy and politics - but Tubbo catches the look of relief on Fundy’s face. 

The festival is put back on - this time, not as a trick to catch Dream and execute him, but as a genuine celebration of peace. It makes Tubbo feel relief, for the first time in months. Everything will be okay. He hopes.

Things usually end up bad, one way or another. It’s the way of the world, and it seems around here it ends up that way more times than not. Just one thing after another. But Tubbo still feels hope, and relief, as he steps out into the main square of New L’Manberg to see Fundy and Ranboo chatting as they set up decorations for the upcoming festival. It’s exciting. 

It feels jarring to be excited about a festival, but that’s okay, he thinks. 

“When should I show myself to everyone else?” Tommy asks him as they watch the others.    


“Whenever you feel comfortable,” Tubbo answers easily, gaze sliding to his ghostly friend at his side. 

He doesn’t miss the grateful smile Tommy shoots him. 

“Did the discs really mean nothing to you?” the ghost asks later, voice soft in the quiet of the night. 

Tubbo, lying on his bed, stares up at the ceiling with a slight frown. “Never as much as they did to you,” he eventually answers, shifting so his head is tilted towards his friend. 

Tommy looks contemplative. 

“Did you mean it when you said you only cared about the discs?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy suddenly looks stricken. 

“No!” he rushes out. “No, never. Tubbo, it… it’s you, it’s always you. The discs, they just… they mean a lot to me partially because of how much we went through for them.  We fought together for so long. They were like… representative of our friendship, or some shit.”   


Tubbo hums, smiling a little. “How insightful of you, Tommy.”   


“Shut up, man,” his friend complains, laughing.   


“I’m serious!” he insists. “You’re smarter than you let on.”   


“Whatever.” Tommy swipes at him, hand passing through the other’s arm. “Go to sleep, Tubbo.”

Tubbo snickers, ignoring the sharp glare from his friend as he turns onto his side. 

As it turns out, Tommy decides to reveal himself at the festival. 

Everyone is invited, no matter their citizenship or current criminal status, and they all have fun playing games. Tubbo lets himself laugh when Quackity screws up on one of the games - they all throw an object onto ice, letting it slide toward a target - and feels his face turn red. He lets himself have fun, even though he doesn’t really win anything. He just likes watching the others. 

He gets ice cream from Ranboo’s food stand, and watches with glimmering amusement when Tommy suddenly lets himself become visible just to scream in Fundy’s face, causing the fox hybrid to scream and drop his own ice cream. 

“I’m back, bitch!” Tommy crows, floating mid air.    


There’s a collective, though light-hearted, groan from several of the people, as some even cheer for the ghost. Tommy looks absolutely delighted to have the attention and it makes Tubbo’s heart ache with a bittersweet happiness. 

This is nice. He wants this to last. 

And, as he angles his head up towards the sky, watching the clouds drift to cover the sun, he isn’t really sure it will. All good things come to an end; he just hopes this one will last longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> the end was rushed so if its kinda not great i apologize! i hope anyone reading this enjoyed this fic though, kudos and comments mean a lot :)


End file.
